Remus Lupin and the Computational Error
by pisoprano
Summary: In George Weasley and the Computational Error, Remus Lupin went back in time to the day of his birth, never to be heard from again. Until now.
1. The Mysterious Stranger

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse my work or even know that it exists.

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><p><strong>Remus Lupin and the Computational Error<strong>

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><p>"Strange, indeed, that you should not have suspected that your universe and its contents were only dreams, visions, fiction! Strange, because they are so frankly and hysterically insane—like all dreams"<p>

The Mysterious Stranger

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><p>As soon as Remus felt real again, he ran. There was no time to lose: he was just born and his brother would arrive in 3 minutes, and die sometime between 8 minutes and 3 hours from now. Remus was there to change that.<p>

Remus entered the birthing room. There was his mother, looking barely conscious, and a young healer taking a pale infant into his hands.

"That infant needs oxygen and he needs it now!" Remus said.

"Who are you?" the healer asked. "Who authorized you—"

"We don't have time for this," Remus said as he pointed his wand at the young Romulus Lupin and cast a variation of the Bubble Head charm that yielded a higher concentration of oxygen than normal air. This is where things would get tricky: the future version of the healer in front of him hadn't been sure what the cause of the asphyxia in Romulus was, so Remus would have to try and remember what techniques applied to the causes he saw—and hopefully what he saw would help him diagnose correctly.

"You can't just come in here and start doing my job!"

"Healer," Remus said as he took Romulus from the man, "I am currently the expert in the room and you are not helping me save this child's life, so please either shut up or leave so I can heal in peace!"

The healer shut up. Remus felt bad for yelling at him, but time was of the essence. If Romulus died now, then Remus would wink out of existence and be unable to do anything to stop the First Wizarding War before it began. Besides, Remus thought his younger self would do better having a brother to grow up with.

Remus took Romulus to the table where the healer had left the babe's brother—Young Remus, as Remus was going to have to think of him. Remus checked inside Romulus' mouth to see if anything was blocking the airway. Nothing, but he'd doubted that. He cast Tergeo to remove the fluids covering Romulus' body, followed by a weak Hot-Air charm, to keep him warm. Remus checked Romulus' heart rate. Too low. And his breathing was too shallow. It looked like he'd have to start chest compressions.

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><p>An eternity later, Romulus was breathing normally. Remus had done it.<p>

"Continue monitoring the heart and breathing rates," Remus told the healer. "Get help from one of your superiors if you have even the slightest suspicion that his stability has changed."

"What?" the healer asked. "Where are you going?"

"I have places to be tonight," Remus replied, by which he meant that he had to get started obtaining the ingredients for his next dose of Wolfsbane potion. "Oh, and have Mrs. Lupin start breastfeeding the boys when she feels up to it. Goodbye." And Remus left before the healer could ask more about what in Merlin's name had just happened.

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><p>Certain ingredients of the Wolfsbane Potion grew in the wild, ready to be chopped or mashed or what have you. Other ingredients, however, had to have been harvested at a specific time of the month or treated in certain ways that would take too much time. The only way to get those was from someone who kept a variety of potion ingredients on hand. The main obstacle to that was the fact that the spell to send someone back in time moved three things: the wizard, their wand, and their clothes—and even that last one wasn't permanent, since the clothes would, apparently, disappear after a week. What was missing on the list was money—and there wasn't enough time to earn enough to get some of the more expensive ingredients.<p>

Old George had thought of a solution—well actually two. The first was just stealing from Hogwarts' potions stores, but Remus didn't want to become a thief—he may have been a prankster as a kid, but that did not mean that becoming a burglar was something he wanted to do. He might have to do some illegal things in the near future, but for now, Remus planned to go werewolf the old-fashioned way if Old George's second idea didn't pan out.

Remus gathered what plants he could—might as well get what he could for free if things went pear-shaped—and then Apparated to the lab of a Potions Master by the name of Damocles. Remus had never gotten the opportunity to meet the Potions Master in the future—he was just too famous for anyone to just walk up to—but the Damocles of the present had yet to create his life's work, and so he would probably be much easier to speak to directly.

Remus knocked on the door several times over a period of five minutes, almost long enough to give up, before a wizard finally came to the door. "What do _you _want? It'd better be good because I'm _very_ busy right now."

"Are you Damocles?" Remus asked, even though he recognized the man that would have portraits everywhere in a few decades.

"Yes, who's askin'?"

"I want to cut you a deal," Remus said. "I know how to make a potion that could make you rich and famous if you patent it."

Damocles looked at him in disbelief. "Then why aren't _you_ trying to patent it?"

"I only know how because I learned to make a dosage for my own personal needs, not for everyone who might benefit from it," Remus explained, figuring that it would be better to remain truthful around a man who could give him Veritaserum to verify his claims. Well, truthful to a degree, anyway. "The wizard I learned it from has recently gone through a traumatic experience that has given him the mind of an infant, and no one else knows anything about it. I heard about your skills and figured you could reverse engineer the potion."

"I still don't hear the part where this is a 'deal,'" Damocles said.

"All I ask is that I be provided with full access to your apothecary," Remus replied. "Possibly for an indefinite period of time, but at minimum for the next three days. I'll repay the cost of the ingredients when I can, but I don't have two knuts to rub together at the moment."

"_Full_ access?" Damocles laughed. "To all of the ingredients that I have meticulously bought on my own? And only a _promise _that you'll pay me back in the future. You're very funny, sir."

"I would be giving you detailed instructions on how to create a potion that could _easily_ make you famous. That doesn't entice you at all?"

"Who cares about being famous?" Damocles asked. "Wouldn't you rather being helping other people instead of yourself? It's _much_ more satisfying."

Remus' opinion of Damocles went up a couple notches. He hadn't realized that the Potions Master never sought the fame he'd gotten. It was rather ironic that he'd be the best known potioneer of the modern age and that he didn't want his fame. Of course, now that Remus thought about it, a lot of the famous people he'd known or would have known didn't want their fame either.

"I need this potion badly, yes," Remus allowed, "but I know of so many more people who do as well. You wouldn't be famous for patenting love potions or some such frivolous nonsense. You would be alleviating a serious medical problem."

"_Now_ I'm intrigued," Damocles said. "Do you mind if I add a few conditions?"

"Let me hear what they are first," Remus said. Even if he didn't think Damocles was going to rip him off, it was better to be careful.

"First off," Damocles said, "I don't want you to tell me anything about the potion unless I specifically ask. If we're going to get me a patent, I want to have _earned _it. All I want to see is the finished product, understand?"

"That's reasonable," Remus shrugged. Of course it would be preferable for Damocles to get started treating werewolves immediately, but they all would still be getting the Wolfsbane Potion decades earlier than they would otherwise.

"Also I want you to decide right now how much credit you want for this discovery," Damocles said.

"I'd rather my involvement not be known at all," Remus said. "I'm not particularly fond of attention."

"I'm not either," Damocles said.

"The discovery should be yours and yours alone," Remus insisted. "I'm more like the explorer who stumbled upon some ancient ruins. You're the archaeologist who realized the ruins' significance."

Damocles scoffed. "It's more likely that you've got people after you. People who'd be more likely to catch up to you if I mentioned your involvement to the public, hmm?"

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it was close enough—he could very easily have people after him if someone realized that Remus was a werewolf through his connection to the potion—so Remus nodded.

"Nice of you to admit it," Damocles said. "But you should know that if the potion you show me is anything like something I can find _anywhere _else, you'll have to find help from an apothecary or Potions Master that doesn't care about the slander I'll be spreading about you. Are you willing to take the risk that your brain-addled teacher didn't tell anyone else anything about your potion?"

"I am absolutely certain that not even the notes on this potion exist and no one else _could_ possibly know anything about it." Time travel made such absolutes _so _much easier to be declared without lying.

"Then we are agreed?"

"We are," Remus said. "Let's get started."

Damocles waved his wand towards the door to his stores. "I normally have this set up to let me know when an ingredient is running low. Now it will also keep a running tally of exactly how much _you_ take—but I'll only be paying attention to what it's all worth—so as to not bias me, of course. Until you prove untrustworthy, that is."

Remus nodded, ignoring the implied threat, and began work on the Wolfsbane Potion. Damocles made a point to not pay attention to him, instead focusing on whatever he had been working on before Remus showed up. Finally, Remus finished, the potion emitting a blue smoke. Remus cleaned up the table of the ingredient residue he'd left and poured half the potion into a goblet for viewing and half in a flask he'd conjured to drink from later. He'd never made a double batch before, but Snape had assured him that nothing would go wrong so long as Remus was careful in making sure he doubled everything—which he did.

"Do you want to see your next project?" Remus asked.

Damocles turned to examine the potion. "What _is_ this? You are right to believe that this has likely never been seen before." He took a taste and retched. "Are you _trying _to make the most obviously bad for you poison in the world? What good is that as a patent?"

"I assure you that, at minimum, there are over four dozen people alive in Great Britain alone who would find their lives improved by this potion," Remus said. It had always been difficult to put a hard number on the werewolf population, but he was rather confident that 48 was estimating low, if you included those who avoided being registered.

"Does improving their lives involve killing them?" Damocles asked. "You do know what aconite does to a person, right?"

"If I'm not much mistaken, wolfsbane has medicinal uses—otherwise you would not have some in your apothecary."

"I prefer to call it aconite," Damocles said. "'Wolfsbane' is what superstitious old hags call it."

Remus had to hold back his laughter. As far as he knew, the Damocles of the future had very deliberately given the Wolfsbane Potion that name. "For the time being, do you wish to call this the 'Aconite Potion' then?"

"It's as good as any other name," Damocles shrugged. "Did you need this dose? I need _something _to analyze thoroughly."

"You have half of the batch," Remus said. "I have what I need for tonight."

"Good, good. But you must understand that I won't be able to work solely on the Aconite Potion—I have experiments of my own, after all. So don't expect me to patent this anytime soon. You can keep coming back here to make another batch for yourself as long as you make me as much as I want for study."

"You have no idea how much it pleases me to hear that," Remus said. "I will be back tomorrow."

"Oh, and by the way, I've got ways of tracking you down if you've deceived me in any way. I might also make you come brew the potion for me at unexpected times, so don't make any absolute plans if you can help it."

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><p>So, with his potion out of the way, Remus could finally visit Dumbledore. Despite the confidence he'd been exuding all day, Remus felt as nervous as a screaming jobberknoll. One mistake on his part could set this timeline to implode or to have Voldemort win completely this time—he wasn't sure which was worse.<p>

Remus decided that the best way to meet Dumbledore while still having no money to even send an owl or buy a drink—and without Flooing his office uninvited—would be to sit on a bench in Hogsmeade and wait for Dumbledore to come get a drink himself.

Remus didn't have to wait long. The headmaster, barely looking younger than the werewolf remembered, walked past Remus with a jaunt in his step. Remus stood to go after him, but at the speed Dumbledore was going, he wouldn't meet up with him until after the headmaster entered the Three Broomsticks. And since Remus didn't want to enter the place without money of his own, he'd either have to wait for Dumbledore to come back out or to try again another night.

Remus sighed. He was tired—partly from the day's events and partly because the full moon was so soon—and what he needed to tell Dumbledore would keep. Remus was tempted to just sleep on the bench he was already sitting on, but he knew from experience that the local villagers did not want the appearance of homelessness on their streets and someone would shoo him away before he'd be asleep for five minutes. Instead, he Apparated to a homeless shelter he'd passed by a few times but never had the courage to actually utilize. The way he was now, though, he had no other options. In the previous timeline, going back home to mooch off Dad had always been a possibility—a very distasteful possibility, true, but a possibility nonetheless. Now Remus had no safety net and would have to exist on as low a level a wizard could get.

So it really should not have been as much a surprise as it was to see Fenrir Greyback at the homeless shelter too.

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><p>Remus tried to exit himself quietly, but Greyback took notice of him immediately. "Ho, there, <em>friend<em>," Greyback said as he gave a toothy smirk.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know you," Remus said. "Not enough to be considered a friend anyway."

"I'm pretty good at spotting someone of _our kind_ when I see one, especially around _this time_," Greyback said. "We ought to stick together."

Remus paled. Fenrir Greyback—the man who had deliberately turned Remus—had not only recognized him as a werewolf, but he wanted to _befriend him_.

"I...I tend to be more of a lone wolf," Remus stammered.

"How do you know what you want if you've never tried running with a pack?" Greyback asked. "A pack can become a family. You strike me as the type who might like a family."

Remus _did_ like having a family, but he had no intention of joining Greyback's. "I'm really not. And I should go."

"I'm pretty sure you came here tonight for a decent bed—sure beats sleeping on tree roots or dirt. Especially since it's going to rain pretty hard tonight. Just stay for the night, I'll introduce you to some of my friends, and _then _you can decide whether you want to stay a lone wolf. Having a pack is better than you think."

Remus didn't see a good way out of it—he couldn't exactly use fatigue as an excuse against another werewolf. It would only invite torment. Then again, Greyback would probably torment him anyway. But it probably wouldn't be the best idea to antagonize Greyback this early on...

Finally, Remus replied, "I'll listen."

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><p>Remus was starting to see how Greyback had managed to convince so many people that he was a Muggle tramp—he practically was one already, just one that was also <em>extremely <em>proud of being a werewolf. It seemed that he hadn't gotten his taste for children just yet—or he might have been downplaying that part while trying to recruit Remus to his pack. Instead, Greyback kept talking about how he was going to force wizards into learning give werewolves respect instead of perpetually despising them. Remus could obviously empathize with increasing werewolf respect, but he knew all too well that Greyback would only extend the rift between wolf and wizard, not heal it.

Despite his deep longing to just fall asleep, Remus couldn't help but try to reason with Greyback. "I can admire your enthusiasm, but I think you might be channeling it in the wrong direction if you want to be respected rather than feared."

"Respect _is_ fear," Greyback replied.

"Not necessarily," Remus said. "A person who is afraid of you might face their fear and fight back. A person who respects you might help you because they have your interests at heart. Because of this, some of the most successful revolutionaries in history were pacifists. You can get a lot of supporters from people who aren't afraid you're going to bite their heads off."

"Who needs supporters?" Greyback asked. "We've got the pack."

_This from the man who would one day join Voldemort despite _still _getting no respect_, Remus thought. "So the wizards that decide to treat you like human beings _aren't_ supporters of your cause? How does that work?"

"You don't understand," Greyback said. "You're using too much human logic and not paying enough attention to your animal instincts. You ignore your instincts and you're dead."

"28 nights out of 29, you're still a man," Remus noted. "Just something to think about."

"You shouldn't think too much, friend. Being a wolf is _nothing _to be ashamed of."

_It is if I hurt somebody_, Remus thought but kept it to himself. The best he could hope for was to prevent Greyback from getting as far down his path of inhumanity as he would in Remus' old timeline. Remus had no idea if Greyback's cruelty was inevitable, but he could at least allow the ideas to propagate through the pack—though they hardly participated, two scraggly werewolves had listened to every word that Remus had said. They might listen to Remus and decide to refrain from joining Voldemort.

But the wolves would need help if Remus' encouragement was going to stick. The Wizarding World at large needed to be in a place where it wasn't unheard of to accept werewolves. They needed...

They needed a classic work of literature to be published early.

They needed _Hairy Snout, Human Heart._


	2. The Book Thief

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse my work or even know that it exists.

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><p>"Of course, I'm being rude. I'm spoiling the ending, not only of the entire book, but of this particular piece of it. I have given you two events in advance, because I don't have much interest in building mystery. Mystery bores me. It chores me. I know what happens and so do you. It's the machinations that wheel us there that aggravate, perplex, interest, and astound me. There are many things to think of. There is much story."<p>

The Book Thief

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><p>Remus got a job in a shop he'd once worked at on Diagon Alley. It had been one of his least favorite jobs, with grueling hours and working conditions, but it was also one of the best paying—and with no resources to start with and a significant debt to Damocles already building up, he decided to get what money he could while the world at large was unaware of his werewolf status. As such, it was a rare moment that Remus could sneak off to the Hog's Head or the Three Broomsticks at a reasonable hour, and each time Dumbledore wasn't there. While nursing a Butterbeer—he wasn't about to let on to Aberforth or Madam Rosmerta his real goal and risk getting kicked out—Remus stole napkins and worked on a transcription of <em>Hairy Snout, Human Heart.<em>

_Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ was Remus' favorite book of all time—and considering how much he read, that was saying something. James had found it in 1975 and had given a copy to Remus for Christmas. The werewolf had devoured it—figuratively speaking, though Sirius had tried to make the statement literal once or twice. Remus was flabbergasted that anyone could have an experience being a werewolf that was so similar to his. If it weren't for the fact that Remus knew he didn't write it, he would have suspected it was his own story with a couple changed details. Remus never found out who its "anonymous author" was so he sent a letter to Whizz Hard Books to pass on to him or her, thanking them for writing something that so captured his experience. He had sent the publisher a thank you letter every year, each time that he read through it again. He had the book almost memorized now. The "almost" was where the problems laid.

The book had a few sections that were transitional or gave a basic background on lycanthropy to the uninformed reader, and Remus had gotten into the tendency to skim these in favor of getting to the meat of the piece. In transcribing, however, Remus found gaps that must have had not known as well as he thought he had, and he racked his brain trying to recall them. After six weeks of trying to recreate the words either on his rare break or at 3:00 in the morning (except during the week of the full moon, where he used those late hours to work on the "Aconite Potion" with Damocles), he realized that he had no choice but to utilize his own writing skills. He was self-conscious that someone would notice that his inserted sections were written by someone else, but he forced himself to anonymously submit the manuscript to Whizz Hard Books anyway. The essentials were there, and the book ought to be available for purchase within a month—the story was too good to hesitate getting it into the people's hands, right?

For the next three months, Remus kept an eye on Flourish and Blotts whenever he walked by on an errand for his employer. During that time, _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ never made an appearance and Remus started to get worried. Maybe the publisher lost the manuscript? Maybe Remus' insertions were worse than he'd realized? Maybe the world simply wasn't ready for a story of a human suffering from lycanthropy yet? He couldn't exactly ask Whizz Hard Books what happened to the manuscript without losing his anonymity, so he accepted that he would just have to be patient.

Remus thought about getting in contact with Greyback's pack again during the wait, but he decided to take care of things with Dumbledore first. Remus could not give the headmaster any reason to not trust him, and if word got out that he was associated with a werewolf pack, he'd never get the opportunity to talk to Dumbledore.

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><p>It was nearly August by the time that Remus got to meet with Dumbledore. Remus introduced himself as "RJ Thewlis, Seer and Magical Creature Expert" as he sat himself down and the two got talking. They did so on a particularly busy night at the Three Broomsticks, where Remus had to balance talking loud enough to be heard and soft enough to not attract any unwanted attention—after a few minutes, it became surprisingly easy. Sure, he'd cast Muffliato before he even opened his mouth, but Dumbledore obviously didn't know about a spell that hadn't been invented yet, so it was better to act like there wasn't the safeguard, so as to emphasize the gravity of the conversation. The grave parts, though, Remus had to work up to.<p>

"I find it interesting you seem to consider yourself first and foremost a seer," Dumbledore commented as he took a sip of brandy.

"If there's one thing I know, it's the future," Remus said. "For example, the next few Ministers of Magic will be Nobby Leach, Eugenia Jenkins, Harold Minchum, and Millicent Bagnold."

"Forgive me if I wait until they are elected before letting the Daily Prophet know who wins," Dumbledore replied with a twinkle in his eye.

"I wouldn't expect anything less," Remus replied as he set his Butterbeer aside. "Do you remember one Tom Riddle? He was a former student of yours, if I'm not much mistaken."

"Extremely talented and responsible, yes, but he had a bit of a tendency towards hiding things that made me wonder what else he might be doing," Dumbledore replied. "Do you happen to have any insight on what those doings might be?

"He wants to make six Horcruxes—thus having a seven-part soul—and is well on his way to doing so. But he not only desires immortality, he desires to overhaul Magical Britain and rule over it. This is a bad thing."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Did you seek me out for protection from Tom's wrath?"

"No," Remus said. "I highly doubt he knows of my existence. I'm a seer, remember? I've had visions of Tom, calling himself 'Lord Voldemort,' torturing Muggles and Muggle-borns, with his masked followers doing likewise. I see a man with hardly a shred of humanity left to the point that everyone can see it on his face, his eyes becoming red and his nose snakelike. I see the greatest hope in the darkest times in the form of a year-old orphan—but even he cannot permanently stop one so terrible that few will dare speak his name. The innocent boy will become a Horcrux of the Dark Lord's soul, their fates more intertwined than any two wizards in history. 'Neither can live while the other survives' is how one powerful seer will describe it. That is the fate that I want you to help me avert."

"How can you be so certain that your 'visions' are the future—and if they are, that you even have the power to stop them from happening?"

"I know you're a skeptic when it comes to Divination—or at least you are regarding whether everyone who has claimed to be a seer has truly foreseen," Remus said. "Yet I was able to see a few things about you, and not only regarding your future: you wield the Elder Wand, you stalled your fight with Grindelwald because you were afraid of finding out who actually ended up killing Ariana, and your favorite jam is raspberry. And before you ask, no, I haven't been talking to your brother or Grindelwald."

"Hmm," Dumbledore said noncommittally. "And what do you see in my _future_?"

"The Resurrection Stone causing your demise—we'll have to be careful about that particular Horcrux. You being known as the only wizard Voldemort ever fears—perhaps you _shouldn't _have lit his wardrobe on fire? You having a very hard time keeping the Defence Against the Dark Arts class up to standard, since Tom jinxed that teaching position last time you said no—and speaking of which, you should ask the House-elves about the Come and Go Room and look for Ravenclaw's Diadem amongst the piles of hidden junk: it's the Horcrux he hid that day."

"Are you finished?" Dumbledore asked.

"Do you believe me yet?" Remus replied.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am unsure what to believe. You do know things known to very few individuals, true, but I have yet to hear anything verifiably unknown without divination."

Remus sighed. It looked like he'd have to use a secret that not even Old George knew about—one that the future Dumbledore told him to use if all else failed. "You are a celibate homosexual because you fell in love with Grindelwald—or, perhaps, with his brilliance—and after you realized what he was, you now consciously distrust your own judgment about love. You can comprehend love and encourage it in others, but you will not let yourself indulge in it—and you have not, despite that close-call you had back in 1945 that messed you up for weeks, even if you're positive that you never showed any outward signs of it."

Dumbledore stared at him. "I think I am starting to believe you."

"Good, because that was the most personal thing I have in my arsenal," Remus replied as he took a much needed drink of Butterbeer. In all honesty, he needed something stronger, but he didn't have the money to spare.

"There are very few things I think you could dream about in the future that would affect me like those words did now," Dumbledore said. "I will work with the assumption that you, indeed, are a seer. Tell me everything you can about our potential future."

And Remus did. He covered all the Horcruxes first—those were the most important, after all. From there, he named every confirmed Death Eater of the previous two timelines, as well as whether they ever turned against Voldemort and, if so, why. He named every member of the Order of the Phoenix and their eventual fates. Remus described battles that he'd participated in, and ones that he'd missed but were too important to neglect. He spoke of the Boy-Who-Lived in detail, describing his trials and victories and failures. The only things Remus did not say a word on were about the revival of Harry and his final duel with Voldemort. If Dumbledore knew that all would be well in the end, he might guide the future to what it had been instead of taking the opportunity to change it all.

"Are you so sure that our best choice is to prevent Harry from fulfilling his destiny?" Dumbledore asked. "After all, a known future is better to shoot for than an unknown one."

"With all due respect," Remus said, "I would rather change things now to prevent the deaths that will happen in the near future. The ending has not yet been written, and if we let Voldemort drag down our world, it will be _so _much harder to bring it back up than it would be to prevent the fall in the first place."

"However, as you have said, Tom's plans are already in motion," Dumbledore said. "Some war may be inevitable at this point. If we act too soon, we may not use your foresight to our advantage. I'd rather not count on you having visions to compensate for our changes to your version of the future."

"Somehow I doubt that I'll foresee much more than I already have," Remus admitted reluctantly.

"You coming here like this, why it's almost as if you were a time traveler—"

Remus winked out of existence.


	3. The Well of Lost Plots

DISCLAIMER: All levels of this story are fictional. Any real people are not intended to be accurate depictions. And JK Rowling still doesn't know that this story exists. And neither does Jasper Fforde or any other professional authors, editors, etc.

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><p>"After all, reading is arguably a far more creative and imaginative process than writing; when the reader creates emotion in their head, or the colors of the sky during the setting sun, or the smell of a warm summer's breeze on their face, they should reserve as much praise for themselves as they do for the writer—perhaps more."<p>

The Well of Lost Plots

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><p>"Where am I?" He felt like he was in a void, but there wasn't the utter black of nothingness around him, nor was there some blinding light. It was like...he <em>couldn't <em>take in anything about his surroundings.

"Welcome to the Well of Lost Plots," a voice said.

"The what?" he asked.

"I know the name makes no sense," the voice replied. "Someone stole it from someone's missing sock pile and it managed to stick. Basically, this is where things go when their existence is not fully realized. It's not death, exactly, but good luck getting back to your world."

"Who are you?"

"I used to be Lysander Scamander," the voice said, and as he said it, his body began to appear before him, looking like Old George's subliminal memory. "Now I'm nobody. Who were you?"

"Remus Lupin."

"You had a twin?" Lysander asked. "Huh, never would have guessed that one. Does the fact that George hasn't showed up mean he was successful?"

Remus shrugged. "Probably."

"He made it through the first year, right?"

"He did," Remus confirmed. "He did most of what needed to be done to defeat Voldemort when I left, but I wanted to leave as soon as I was able, just in case George accidentally died or something and I was stuck there."

"How long did you last then?" Lysander asked.

"From March until the end of July."

"End of July..." Lysander was getting a strange look on his face. "When _exactly_ in July?"

"The 31st," Remus replied.

Lysander got a strange grin on his face. "That either means that one of the theories floating around here us wrong, or you just might be able to convince your version of the universe that you were unjustly deported. Either way, we've learned something!"

"Come again?"

"Some people here believe that a year is not actually what finalizes existence for us time travelers," Lysander explained, "but others believe that it's actually the passing between a certain time in June or July—it varies from year to year when exactly it is, but that if you get to Harry Potter's birthday, then you should be in the new year's cycle."

"Why would it be Harry Potter's birthday?" Remus asked.

Lysander looked at him like he was crazy. "Haven't you realized that he's the reason that anything exists?"

"Harry Potter is _not_ a god," Remus said flatly.

"No," Lysander allowed, "but our creator made him first, and built out entire universe around him conquering challenges. It is quite surprising that George actually managed to modify anything so close to the Meridian of Time."

"The Meridian of Time?" Remus repeated. Lysander was starting to sound like either a novelist or a scholar who made up terms to make his field sound more important than it was. Remus vastly preferred nonfiction or texts with practical value, not made up codswallop. But Remus decided to remain polite and allow for the possibility that Lysander was right. Stranger things had happened, after all.

"There are debates on when exactly it is," Lysander explained, "but the most popular candidates for the Meridian are Halloween 1981, sometime in late 1991 or early 1992, June 1995, or May 1998. Notice anything interesting?"

"Do you think that those are your Meridians because you know stories about Harry Potter or because you have actual facts to back them up?"

"The stories and facts are intertwined," Lysander replied as if it was the most self-evident thing in the world. "Just look at Harry: he had more luck in seven years than any twenty other complete lives combined. At 15 months, he got his first universally known title: the Boy-Who-Lived. Years before he even did what he would become most famous for, people recognized that he was the Chosen One. He defeated Voldemort by being lucky enough to get the allegiance of the Elder Wand without even touching it, not to mention all the other cases of him just _happening _to be at the right place and right time with the right people all for helping him out for no particular reason yet end up being crucial for his success. Here in the Well there's a word for someone like that: ta'veren."

"And how many of these 'ta'veren' have there been?"

"In our multiverse?" Lysander asked. "Just Harry, though there's the occasional theorist that argues that Hermione, Ron, or sometimes even Snape were lesser ta'veren. In the other multiverses, however, things are completely different."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the multiverse supposed to contain everything?"

"Our multiverse contains everything derived from one creator—though very rarely something by some fellow named Galbraith creeps in," Lysander added. "It contains hundreds of thousands of defined alternate universes (and infinite undefined ones) containing every small and large change anyone could possibly think of. Other creators have their own sets of multiverses, but few can rival the variations on the original JK-verse."

Remus was still confused. He still had no idea if what Lysander was saying would be in any way helpful to him, but it was obvious that he was out of his depth in the Well of Lost Plots. "So are we inside of our multiverse or aren't we?"

"That is a very difficult question to answer," Lysander sighed. "This place is an area where many multiverses collide together—a metaverse, if you will. If each multiverse is like a balloon and they all make contact with one another, the shared surface is where we exist."

"Huh?"

"Sorry, that metaphor is actually meant for the interaction of universes within a multiverse about how there is no 'core idea' of something, just surface commonalities, but I'm sure the adaptation theorist I stole it from won't mind. Much."

"Is _everyone _here a theorist?" Remus asked.

"More or less," Lysander said. "It's not like we have much else to do. Unlike our previous universes, there is nothing driving time forward, we just exist forever here so that we don't muck up things elsewhere."

"Except maybe me," Remus said. He had gotten lost in Lysander's talk and almost lost sight of the entire point: that Remus _might _be able to go back to where he was. "How exactly do I get out of this place, if whoever it was is right?"

"Well, you just need to go talk to the Editor of the JK-verse, of course. Tell him he booted you unfairly and he might agree to send you back. You might want to have someone come with you to appeal on your behalf, though."

"Are you volunteering?" Remus asked, hoping he'd say no. Even if Lysander _did_ have an accurate view of the Well, he had a tendency to digress and Remus had a feeling that Lysander could digress forever if given the opportunity.

"If you really want me to, sure," Lysander shrugged, "but I'd rather you take an actual writer with you instead of a mere theorist like me. Writers can convince editors to bend the rules like no other."

Remus started thinking about the author of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ and wondered if they might exist in this Well of Lost Plots place—he'd always wanted to meet them, after all, and this might be an ideal place to do so. "Can I just summon the author of a book I've read or do I have to find someone in particular?"

"Maybe," Lysander said, "but—"

"You summoned me?" a new voice said.

"Are you the author of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_?" Remus asked.

"I am," the new voice replied, but no distinct body appeared.

Remus had hoped that he'd finally be able to put a face with that voice, but then he realized that it might not happen: Remus had only seen Lysander after knowing who he was and his appearance conformed to the picture he'd gotten from Old George's memories, down to the robes he was wearing. The author, however, had no face for Remus to give him, so it'd likely remain a disembodied voice.

"What are you doing here?" Lysander asked.

"The creator did not put much thought into me," the author said. "I am my book and little else. The rest of my potential to be a person wound up here."

"Ah, a Grade-D Generic," Lysander nodded. For Remus' benefit, he added, "a Grade-D Generic is someone who was explicitly created but has little detail. They both do and do not exist here in a cat-paradox kind of way. I'm actually a Grade-D Generic as well, or at least part of me is—I had to be reintegrated with my time-traveling self when I got sent to the Well. That me was _much_ more interesting—Grade-B at least."

"Not that this isn't _fascinating_," Remus said sarcastically, "but this author and I have to go make an appeal to the editor of the JK-verse. Just tell me how to get there, and we can be off."

"Without even saying goodbye?" Lysander asked.

"Goodbye," Remus said.

"You are _horrible_ at goodbyes," Lysander said as he gave Remus a hug, which he returned awkwardly. He wasn't really used to people actually touching him. "_That's_ how you say goodbye. Now, author of _Hairy Heart, Human Snout_, take him to the Outlands. You're looking for the editor named Blair. Good luck!"

"It's '_Hairy Snout, Human Heart,_'" the author corrected as Lysander faded from Remus' view and actual surroundings began to appear, in the form of a man tinkering with a complicated looking machine.

"Is this guy Blair or are we going to have to look around more?" Remus asked.

"That's just the professor, we haven't even gotten to the Outlands yet," the author replied. "To do that, we use the Large Textual Sieve Array. A word of warning: it will hurt."

It _did_ hurt, quite a bit. Apparently displacing Remus to the Well was easy for the editor to do, and thus could be an instantaneous process. Moving from the Outlands into the Well was more uncomfortable, but mostly of a mental sort. Going from the Well to the Outlands, however, was something blatantly unnatural, and doing so without a creator's intervention would always be extremely difficult and painful, but nevertheless possible.

Once Remus got through the experience of being shot through a magic particle cannon—and the subsequent sensory overload of being bombarded with the rich world that was the Outlands—the author hurried him along. "We only have 24 hours before we get automatically pulled back to the Well."

Following someone Remus _still_ couldn't actually see was strange, but somehow the two managed to end up at Blair's office without incident. Or at the reception room to the office, at least. The author quickly informed the receptionist of what they were there for and she invited the two of them to sit and wait while she let Blair know about his visitors.

"Have you been here before?" Remus asked as they sat down. "You seem to know your way around."

"I tried to appeal to the editor to get a bit more backstory," the author replied, "but Blair just told me that all sorts of Grade-D Generics had similar problems and told me to try to get a substandard creator to fill me out. Tried that a couple times, but all I ended up being a version of you."

"Me?" Remus asked. "But I was 15 at the time. As much as I like books, I doubt I could write something publishable at that age—or even now, really. Although I did try to recreate your book and publish it in 1960. Sorry."

"No worries—I published it anonymously for a reason."

"What's your name?" Remus asked.

But—like the multiverse was announcing its displeasure at that question _ever _getting an answer—the receptionist told Remus that Mr. Blair was ready to see them.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Remus, may I say it is a pleasure to meet you," a man wearing glasses—obviously Blair—said. "You always were one of Jo's favorites."<p>

"Um, thanks?" Remus replied as he shook Blair's hand. "I'm here to get back to the universe I was just talking to Dumbledore in."

Blair frowned. "I'm afraid that I can't do that."

"I got pulled on 31 July," Remus said. "I already became part of the universe by then, or was Lysander wrong about that?"

Blair sighed. "The situation is more complicated than that. Yes, you were already within the new year cycle—it seems that the people who first made your memory book estimated high for safety reasons—but an interloper altered history to get you there."

"Meaning?" Remus asked.

"Your creator has explicitly stated that you never had any siblings," Blair replied. "Her exact words were these: 'Remus Lupin was the only child of the wizard Lyall Lupin and his Muggle wife Hope Howell.'"

Remus frowned. "I talked to the healer who brought me into the world, and he was quite sure Romulus existed. Merlin, I even helped Romulus stay alive!"

"That healer and your twin were created by the interloper," Blair said. "Not Jo. I suspect the interloper has altered history more than a few times to allow time travel to travel, but they should have been more careful while working in highly defined time. Explicit canon trumps all."

"But how explicit is this case?" the author interrupted. "You have 'was an only child,' not 'was the only child ever born.' Remus certainly was _raised_ as an only child, but does that mean that Lyall and Hope never had a failed pregnancy, or a child die nearly instantly, or even that their other child was raised by someone else?"

"It's obvious what Jo meant," Blair said.

"Maybe," the author allowed, "but that would be _implicit _canon, not _explicit _canon. Remus has a loophole to get back to that timeline."

"I am here to protect the authorial intention of Jo's universe!" Blair insisted. "I can't let you change it just because you want to. Go get your interloper to make an alternate universe if you want it, but leave my domain alone."

"You have over 450 million official copies of the universe," the author pointed out. "Can't we be allowed to deface _one _of them? It's already defaced anyway, so we might as well let Remus add more changes."

"Why isn't having an interloper making an alternate universe okay?" Remus asked. "Wasn't I already in one?"

"Not exactly, at least by our terminology," the author replied. "You were in a _parallel_ universe within a defaced copy of the universe—which is _not _an _alternate_ universe. Spectators view alternate universes and consider them possibilities not taken, that never could have been. However, when they see an official copy of the original—even if 'defaced'—they recognize it as how events were meant to be, and that copy _can _be splintered into different parallel universes. There are a few alternate universes that become 'real' on a small scale—something we call 'head canon'—but what you are doing is extremely difficult to actualize unless you were somehow part of the original in the first place."

"So, in essence," Remus said, "you are trying to preserve my 'realness', is that correct?"

"Yes," the author said. "Along with the universe you were recently attached to."

"But what if I was never a legitimate existence in the first place?" Remus asked. "That I've been imaginary this whole time?"

"Of course you're imaginary," the author said. "We all are, from the creator's perspective—except Blair here. Sort of. Blair is an imaginary copy of one of the creator's friends, since the imaginary cannot directly interact with those on the creator's plane of existence. But that's not important. For our purposes, you must have been 'real' in the sense of being 'canon,' because otherwise we wouldn't be having problems with Blair now. He only deals with the defacing of original copies of the JK-verse."

"But if this Blair isn't the real Blair, he might not have any real power except in the alternate universe that George, Lysander, and the rest of us time-traveled in. He might not have anything to do with the 'official copies,' at all, he just thinks he does."

There was a long pause.

"I sure hope that's not true," the author said. "Otherwise this whole debate is pointless."

"I am certainly not pointless," Blair put in.

"Oh yeah, you exist," the author said as he turned back to Blair. "Maybe. Anyway, you should let Remus go back to his universe. If none of us have anything to do with the original JK-verse, then you aren't hurting any universes by letting him go back. And if you really have the job you think you do, you have let one measly copy be affected. I'm certain you've had copies defaced before and you never worried about those."

"Fine, you win," Blair sighed.

"So I'm going back?" Remus asked.

Blair nodded. And with that, Remus winked back into existence.

* * *

><p>Author's Note<p>

For those of you who came late, this chapter was first posted on Archive of Our Own. Why? For the meta.

All my love,

pisoprano


	4. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse my work or even knows that it exists.

* * *

><p>"Imperfect understanding is often more dangerous than ignorance."<p>

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

* * *

><p>Remus was back in the Three Broomsticks, at the table he was sitting at when he left. But Dumbledore was gone.<p>

_How much time has passed_? Remus wondered. He knew that he hadn't talked to Dumbledore anytime near the moon, but now he felt like he was right on the verge of becoming Moony. He'd have to seclude himself somewhere with no humans tonight.

Then he noticed the book sitting on the table in front of him: _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. But not just any copy of the book: it was the one he had gotten for Christmas in 1975 and had cherished for years. He opened the book and saw a handwritten message on the dedication page.

_Sorry but Blair decided to drop you back in that universe farther down the timeline than when you left. He almost put you at the time when I published my book, but I convinced him to do it when it was published in the timeline you're in now. Be careful: it seems like he has some ulterior motive, but I can't figure out what it is. I'm not even sure if he's reset the time period of keeping time travel in your head or not, so keep quiet until July, or maybe for the next year, just to be safe. I'm only able to leave this message because I found your interloper, who happened to offer to sneak this in for me._

_Good luck!_

—_The Author of Hairy Snout, Human Heart_

Remus grabbed the nearest copy of the Daily Prophet and checked the date: 16 February 1965. Young Remus and Romulus would be turning five soon...

His heart sank: Greyback would be attacking tonight. Yes, it was possible that something Remus had done in 1960 had changed things, but he couldn't count on it. He had to warn Dad.

He Apparated to his childhood home—well, his first one, anyway—and knocked loudly. Remus waited in agony until, finally, Dad answered the door.

"Are you the man who claimed that the Muggle tramp was actually a werewolf in that committee?" Remus asked.

"I am," Dad said.

Remus felt his heart jolt: the timeline hadn't changed.

Dad narrowed his eyes at him. "You're a werewolf too."

_Of course. If Greyback couldn't fool Dad, what were the chances of _me _doing so? _ "Look, I don't have much time—"

Dad pointed his wand at Remus.

"—but your family is in real danger."

"Stop talking, _werewolf_," Dad said coldly. _That _stung—as far back as Remus could remember, Dad had always been a supporter of werewolf rights. But, of course, Dad still didn't have the motivation to do so yet, and was still just parroting prejudices of most wizards—just like what got him in this mess in the first place.

"Fenrir Greyback wants his vengeance and will take it out on your family," Remus continued.

Dad just shot an immobilizing jinx at him and Apparated them both to the Ministry's detention hall. There they had rooms where a werewolf could safely transform, but Remus had always tried to make other arrangements when he could. The place was...unpleasant to be in—and that was before he started having flashbacks of some particularly bad nights.

"So did you try catching that Muggle who no one but you is convinced is a werewolf?" the wizard manning the place asked as Dad brought Remus forward.

"I think this is a werewolf friend of his," Dad said. "I'd feel safer if you kept him here tonight."

Remus wished he could scream about the werewolf that Dad should _really_ be worried about, but his mouth was frozen shut and he didn't have the energy at this time of the month to wandlessly dispel the jinx. Dad followed the detention wizard and floated Remus into a tiny warded cell.

The room had stone walls that had been defecated on countless times—magic might have been able to get rid of the smell, but no one had ever bothered to do so. The door had magically reinforced metal bars through which the guard could observe everything. There was also several invisible wards that would prevent anything from leaving the cell—physically or magically—when the door closed. The only way out was a narrow slot that led to an old basket outside the door, which happened to be where the detention wizard placed the wand he confiscated from Remus.

"If you want anything to be safe in the morning, stick it through the slot and it'll be in the basket when you leave," the wizard said after he locked the door. "Don't try sticking your hand through there. It hurts worse than a bludger to the groin."

Dad Disapparated and Remus regained control of his limbs. Remus started to take off his cloak when his hand touched a book in his pocket: _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. It would be a few minutes before moonrise, so he figured that he wouldn't give the detention wizard more time looking at a naked man than he had to. Remus was only going to reread some of his favorite passages, but then it occurred to him that the author might have left something else for him to find that might help. He flipped through, looking for anything new, and found a quick note scrawled above the afterword.

_Since you would have been taking your potion if you hadn't just gone through a time skip, I went under Blair's nose to retroactively make it so._

_All my love,_

_the interloper_

So Remus' body would react like he had taken his potion all week? That changed everything: if he could be there when Greyback arrived, Remus could fight him without worrying about accidentally injuring any of the Lupin family. He had to get out of this cell and back to his old house.

"Am I really going to be here all night?" Remus asked the detention wizard. "I have things I really need to do."

"It's not my business to question these things. If the moon hits and you're not a wolf, I don't see any reason to keep you here. If you are one then we'll register you when you come to your wits in the morning." The wizard walked off to check on the other werewolves that had been locked up.

Remus had an idea. It'd be cutting it close and might not work at all, but it was the best chance he had of helping his family tonight.

It takes about 50 seconds for the transformation from man to wolf, almost all of which involves a lot of panting, grunting, screaming, and howling. But it is only in the last 15 seconds that it is obvious that the person in front of you is not merely unwell but undergoing a full-on biological shift. The Wolfsbane Potion did not make this process any less painful, but when your mind is still your own, you actually have the capacity suppress the animal instinct to cry out while in pain. At least until the _human_ instinct to cry out in pain takes over.

"The moon is about to rise," the detention wizard said when he returned. "If you're a werewolf, you'll probably want to disrobe and put all of your belongings in the basket."

"I don't want to go to the hassle of taking off my clothes just to put them on again later," Remus said.

"You know, it _has _happened that people have been bitten and they block out the memory of the experience until they turn on the next moon. You sure you don't want to make sure that you don't ruin your things?"

"No, really, I'm fine," Remus insisted. Right then, Remus felt the crushing weight of the moon on him. He did his best to not flinch. The werewolves in the nearby cells started choking in pain. Remus had to differentiate himself from them as much as possible, so he started talking.

"You know, I don't know very much about werewolves," Remus lied as he refused to let the fire filling his veins get the best of him. "By some odd coincidence, I actually started reading this book that just published: _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. I'm not very far, but it's quite interesting."

"It's about werewolves then?" the detention wizard asked.

_I am feeling fine_, Remus told himself_. My veins are not on fire and I am only believing that they are because I am reading an incredibly vivid novel on a dare. Even the moon is just a figment of my imagination. _Out loud, he said, "it's actually just about one werewolf in particular. It's an autobiography. I just got to the part where..." His voice was starting to get strained, so he shook his head like he'd realized the detention wizard wasn't all that interested. Which he probably wasn't.

The sounds of the werewolves in the other cages got louder. One even started howling even though he couldn't possibly be looking like a wolf yet, beyond the dilated pupils.

"You're not a werewolf," the detention wizard said.

Remus shook his head, no longer trusting his throat to make normal human sounds. Any second now, claws would be coming out of his fingers and toes.

The detention wizard opened the cell door. Remus walked quickly out of the wards, grabbed his wand, and Apparated, hoping to Merlin that he didn't splinch himself.

He rematerialized back in front of his old house and crumpled to the ground, finally letting the pain be acknowledged. Fire fire fire as his bones deformed into inhuman shapes. A faint scent he despised hit his nose: Greyback. It _was_ tonight.

He looked around, not seeing Greyback, but there was an open window in the Lupin household. _He's already in there._

Remus climbed through the window after him, despite his transformation not being completely done yet. Greyback wouldn't be done changing yet either, and Remus needed to be ready for him.

Greyback turned as Remus hit the floor of his old room. There were two beds in here now, one for Young Remus and the other for Romulus. Both were asleep, but they wouldn't be for long.

Remus leaped over Greyback, putting himself between the vengeful werewolf and the boys. Greyback growled at him, and Remus growled back. Greyback lunged towards Remus and their fight began in earnest.

Remus had never been particularly strong, not in his human form compared to other humans, and not in his werewolf form when compared to other werewolves. Most of this was conscious on his part: if he didn't make his human body strong, his wolf side might be weak enough that it could be fought off if any humans were unlucky enough to come across him. But now, as he fought the werewolf who prided himself on his strength, Remus wished that he had done something to make himself more on the brawny side.

The bedroom door flung open. "No! Everte Statum! Depulso! Expulso! Confringo!" _Dad. _ Remus jumped back towards the window to make it more obvious that it was Greyback that Dad should focus his spellcasting on instead of him. Dad, for his part, looked amazing—Remus didn't remember a time when he saw him flick his wand so fast. As soon as Greyback hit the windowsill, Remus jumped on him, taking both of them outside.

Remus growled and slashed at Greyback—even though the latter was weakened by Dad's attack, he was still a threat. _These humans are mine_, Remus tried to convey, but Greyback had no intention of backing down to some scrawny wolf who thought himself an alpha. Remus realized that the best way to deal with this was to get Greyback to chase him, so he could lead the werewolf away from any humans that might be in danger tonight.

So Remus peed on Greyback's face and ran.

* * *

><p>"Remus, Romulus, are you sure you're not hurt anywhere?"<p>

"Yes, Daddy," both boys replied for the umpteenth time. But even then, Lyall had had Remus and Romulus take off their pajamas as he inspected every square inch of their bodies. They were both lucky that it looked like neither werewolf had so much as brushed up against them. They were lucky that the smaller werewolf had decided to fight the bigger one instead of preying upon the humans in the room.

Lyall couldn't figure it out: why was the smaller werewolf going against the basest of the beast's instincts just to pick a fight with the other wolf? Could the dissension between the two really be that great? But if that was the case, then why would they try to attack Lyall's family together? Did they assume that their wolven selves would set aside their differences when in the presence of tasty humans? Maybe, but Lyall thought that such an assumption would have been too risky, especially given what happened.

"Daddy," Remus said, "I'm sleepy."

"Me too," Romulus added.

"Okay, okay," Lyall said, "we'll put your pajamas back on and you can go back to bed." That took the usual several minutes, but eventually Lyall's boys were back in their beds and safe. He hoped.

Lyall went to the window to add some more security charms, but as he did so, he saw the smaller werewolf had returned, though it only appeared to be sitting at the curb passively, looking at something on the ground...was that a _book_?

The werewolf then noticed that someone was there and turned to look at Lyall in the window. It nodded towards him, looked up and down the street, then went back to looking at the thing in front of it.

_What in Merlin's name is going on here?_ Lyall wondered, unable to stop looking at the creature in front of his house—whether in caution or fascination, he wasn't sure himself.

Then the werewolf turned a page of what was indeed a book with his snout. _It's reading. A_ _werewolf is _reading _on my curb._

Lyall went back to his bedroom, where his wife was drinking some tea to quiet her nerves. She handed a second cup to Lyall, but he didn't drink, instead setting it on the nightstand. "Hope, I need you to look at something outside. Tell me that I'm not imagining it."

"You need a Muggle's perspective, hmm?" Hope asked as she squeezed his hand.

"Maybe. At the very least, you'll be able to recognize it later: it's one of the werewolves that attacked us."

Hope nodded solemnly and followed Lyall back to the window. "I thought you said that werewolves lose their minds when they transform," she said.

"They do," Lyall confirmed.

"Then why is—"

"That one reading?" Lyall finished. "I have no idea. When it changes back into a person, I'm going to go ask."

"Lyall, be careful. Even in human form, he could be very dangerous."

"I will," Lyall said, kissing Hope's forehead. "Now go back to bed. I'm going to be up for a while longer to make sure our werewolf trespasser doesn't get up to anything."

* * *

><p>Turning back into a man tended to be less painful than the reverse. It was more like the tension of a rubber band being released than the burning preparation of sliding into a new form, but that didn't mean that the experience was in any way enjoyable. Interestingly, the perception of pain was higher when Remus had taken his potion, as there was no wolf-brain to take any of the reversion ache upon it.<p>

Dad came outside just as Remus started to feel like his normal, exhausted self. "You?" he cried.

"Yes, me," Remus said. Grovelling apologies or angry "you should have listened to me"'s weren't going to help anyone right now, so he decided to take on Old George's matter-of-fact attitude about it all. Maybe Dad would even believe him. At the very least, this way he wouldn't have to expend as much emotional energy.

"But you were in the detention cell!"

"I got out early for good behavior," Remus deadpanned. "Look, we can continue your yelling at me, but my clothes are in shambles from last night, and I'd appreciate it if I could borrow a set of robes or even just a blanket, so your neighbors don't have to see the naked man in front of your house."

Dad stared at him a moment, before shaking his head and summoning a throw blanket from inside—one that he remembered accidentally destroying as a kid. Remus took it and wrapped it around his waist. "Thank you."

"What were you doing in my house last night?" Dad asked.

"I tried to warn you about Greyback but you wouldn't listen," Remus said. "I realized I'd have to stop him myself, so I did so—though it was thanks to your wand that we were successful in getting him out, so thank you for doing your part."

"You could have hurt my sons," Dad said.

"There was very little danger of that happening," Remus said. "I can keep my mind during the moon."

"That's impossible," Dad said.

"It involves a potion that took me nearly a year to learn how to make, but it works," Remus said. "I wouldn't have been able to come if it had failed. But, last I checked, the potion recipe needed to be developed more if we want to use it for a more generalized consumer than just me, so I'm the only one who has even heard of it yet."

"And does that other werewolf know about this potion?" Dad asked.

Remus shook his head. "I don't socialize with other werewolves if I can help it."

"Then how did you know my family would be targeted last night?"

"I had a strong hunch based on my past experiences," Remus said, leaving it at that.

Dad scrutinized him. "Why were you so determined to 'help' me? I thought I made my position on werewolves clear."

"You don't _have_ a position on werewolves yet," Remus retorted. "You just have awareness of one side of the story, which is largely made by people as ignorant as you. Here, read this," Remus handed Dad his copy of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. He'd skimmed through the whole thing, just in case any more handwritten messages had popped up, but there were none. The interloper's message in the afterword had disappeared too, though, so it was entirely possible that something else could appear later, but Remus knew that Dad would benefit from reading it so he could give it up. "It was written by a friend of mine and just published yesterday."

Dad read the book's description. "A werewolf wrote this? I thought you didn't talk to the others."

"He got stuck in a Well," Remus said, knowing that Dad would have no idea what he really meant. "And I couldn't get him out. I barely even knew him, really, but I've read his story more times than I can count. Changed my life."

"Then I won't deprive you of your pre-publication copy and I'll just get my own," Dad said, handing the book back to him. "What's his name?"

Remus choked out a laugh. "And that's the saddest part: I never got the chance to find out."

* * *

><p>Fenrir Greyback slid out of his true form and back into a man. That other wolf had ruined everything, getting in the way of Fenrir's revenge on that Lupin. Fenrir, running on pure instinct, had chased the other wolf outside of the city and yet the scrawny creature had somehow managed to lose him. In any other case it would have been easy to track the other wolf down, but he'd marked territory on Fenrir's face, throwing off his sense of smell.<p>

Still, the other wolf's bizarre behavior wasn't the only thing Fenrir was preoccupied with—it was the wolf's scent itself. It smelled a lot like Fenrir's own, and there could only be one possible reason. That other wolf had to have been the one who had bitten him all those years ago.

It just figured that the unknown wolf that had given Fenrir his greatest gift turned out to be a lunatic beast with no idea how to be a werewolf.


	5. We Can Remember It for You Wholesale

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse this story or even know that it exists.

* * *

><p>"The trip you partially remember. Act as if you don't remember; pretend it never took place. Don't ask me why; just take my advice. It'll be better for all of us."<p>

We Can Remember It for You Wholesale

* * *

><p>Remus debated to himself whether he should talk to Dumbledore again. On the one hand, Dumbledore had been doing things over the past five years to change the future and Remus should make sure that something bad hadn't happened. On the other hand, contacting Dumbledore would invariably bring up the time-traveler thing again, which might prompt the universe to eject him back to the Well of Lost Plots (if the author was right about the time reset). Ultimately, Remus decided that the interloper seemed to like him enough that he would probably get back again if that happened, so away to Dumbledore he went.<p>

Well, first he had to go find some robes to wear, as his had been unsalvagable after his latest transformation, but once he did, Remus went to the Three Broomsticks and Dumbledore.

"Ah, my seer friend," Dumbledore said. "I wonder what had happened to you."

"I had a minor cessation of existence," Remus replied. "And if you remember the last thing you said to me, please pretend that it never happened. That information is extremely sensitive."

"I'm afraid that there is a gap in my memory there, but I suppose you suspected that," Dumbledore said. "You didn't erase my memory, did you?"

"Not myself, but Blair probably did it while I was involuntarily visiting his domain. I'd suggest that you refrain from speculating as you did—even mentally—or Blair might take me for another period of unspecified time."

"I am quite a good Occlumens, if I do say so myself."

"Doesn't matter," Remus said. "Blair is more powerful than you can possibly comprehend. I can't even fully explain without endangering my existence again."

"Is whatever it is that allows _you _to keep your knowledge transferable?" Dumbledore asked.

Remus considered it—the hiding of a mind had only been to protect in the universe one jumped to, right? But no, Lysander protected George's mind to transfer the memory book without that first universe noticing. "Alright, this won't allow us to talk about any of it, even in private, but I can make your mind be your own." Remus pointed his wand at Dumbledore's head. "This won't hurt a bit."

"Generally, one says that when it _will_ hurt," Dumbledore said.

"Quiet, please. I need to concentrate."

There wasn't an incantation for this sort of thing, it was more like convincing the universe that everything about a person was written in invisible ink. It was rather fortunate that the universe wasn't too bright—unlike Blair, but he'd only get involved if the universe alerted him about something like time travel messing it up. Remus hoped, anyway. You couldn't expect the Editor of the JK-verse to play fair when you were defacing the thing it was his job to protect.

But he shouldn't be thinking about that. He needed to make Dumbledore invisible to the universe. Remus let his soul reach out to the cosmos and tap into the Invisibility Function, also known as Limited POV Mode among the stranger authors of the Memory Book. He used the version of the Invisibility Function that was already hiding himself to find the settings he was looking for, then applied them to Dumbledore.

Remus lowered his wand. "That's it?" Dumbledore asked.

"I told you it wouldn't hurt," Remus said. "Now where exactly in your memory did you stop remembering what we talked about? No wait, disregard that—give me the thing right before that, just in case you do remember everything and don't realize it." Couldn't be too careful about Blair.

"Quite paranoid, hm? Very well, the second-to-last thing I remember is you being glad I believed you to be a seer. Does that help? I know it was five years ago, but—"

"No, that's fine," Remus said—it was less than a day for him, after all, "but you forgot too much that I wish you'd have been working on in my absence. About an hour's worth of essential information." Whether the universe scrapped that time automatically when Remus was deported or if Blair was consciously being annoying was a question for the ages.

"Then by all means, impart that information once more," Dumbledore invited.

And so, once again, Remus told Dumbledore everything about the future. And when they got to the part that Dumbledore started speculating about him being a time traveler, Remus cut him off.

"Whatever you're about to say, yes it's true, and please don't let that information leave your mind. That's the _only _place that it is safe. If you have to explain things to anyone, I am a seer, not that. _Do you understand?_"

Dumbledore got a twinkle in his eye. "I do admit that it makes a tad more sense, even if it forces me to accept something I believed impossible on such a scale."

Remus was glad to know that Old George had been able to hint at these sorts of things without repercussions so he'd likely be able to as well. "Let's just say I've bended reality a bit and don't want the universe to notice."

* * *

><p>Fenrir had used every connection he had to find his Father Wolf, as he was starting to call the werewolf that stopped him from attacking the Lupins. Nothing came up. Sure, some werewolves were obsessed with isolation from packs, but it was difficult to hide <em>every<em> trace of existence—especially for the amount of time that the Father Wolf must have been around, if he had bitten Fenrir all those years ago. Fenrir hated to admit it, but he'd need help. He'd been considering an alliance with the rising Dark Lord to help werewolves gain power in the Wizarding World, but Fenrir had thus far been hesitant to join any non-wolf wizards. He knew that an alliance would only be a matter of time—the ruthlessness of the Dark Lord was certainly enticing—but with the Father Wolf problem, it'd happen a little sooner.

* * *

><p>Remus checked in on Damocles, to see if he'd made any progress with the "Aconite Potion," as the Potions Master was probably still calling it. It was three weeks before he'd need another dose of potion, but he figured that he might as well let Damocles knew he was alive.<p>

Damocles froze when he opened the door. "Where have you _been_?"

"I'm sorry, I got busy for a while," Remus said.

"But I couldn't find you! I had four different ways to track you and none of them worked! Even if you were dead, at least one of them should have still led me to your body! Or ashes!"

"Well, now that I'm back your methods should work again," Remus noted. "If I could explain, I would, but I can't. The point is is that I am now able to assist your efforts with the Aconite Potion once more. Although I do need to find another job, as I neglected to inform my employer ahead of time that I was going to fall off the face of the earth, so I am once again unable to pay in anything but assistance. Unless you've figured the potion out or found another use of your time?"

"I've abandoned everything else I could be doing for the Aconite Potion," Damocles admitted. "If you've thwarted my destiny by getting me sidetracked on your insane project, I'll be _extremely _put out."

"I'm sure you would have started inventing this potion on your own, sooner or later," Remus assured him. "Do you know what it does yet?"

"Not yet," Damocles lamented. "I've mostly analyzed how different combinations of these ingredients change the properties. Your version looks like it's on the very precipice of perfection of not killing you. Whoever invented it is a genius."

"I'm sure you've had many questions in my absence," Remus said. "What do you want to know?"

"What does it do?" Damocles asked.

"Are you sure you want to know that?" Remus asked. "I seem to remember that you wanted to see if it could be used to treat more than one ailment."

"Even if it does, I'm still holding back a potion from however many who could benefit from it now," Damocles said. "There's an answer staring me straight in the face and I want to know what it is."

"You know, you might do better to call it the Wolfsbane Potion," Remus said with a smile.

"What does that have anything to do... _oh_." A smile crept up onto Damocles' face. "You're a naughty werewolf, aren't you?"

"Who ever said I'd use the potion for myself?" Remus asked innocently. He had made certain that nothing he said about the potion necessarily meant that he was the one to ingest it, just in case he had to make up a werewolf friend to prevent getting registered. That wouldn't be the end of the universe, of course, but it would be extremely inconvenient.

"Don't give me that," Damocles said. "When I said it was _this_ close to killing you, I meant your body weight specifically. You use this to kill your wolf every full moon, don't you?"

"I suppress a wolf every month," Remus said. "Whether it is mine or not is irrelevant."

"Fine, I'll keep your secret," Damocles said, waving it off. "As long as I don't find out you're using the potion to make it easier for a certain werewolf to attack people."

"If I had a cure instead of a treatment available to me, I would apply it in a heartbeat."

"As soon as I have a perfected Wolfsbane Potion recipe for general use, I will start work on your cure," Damocles promised.

"Thank you."


	6. A Conversation with My Father

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse this story or even knows that it exists.

* * *

><p>"No, Pa, it could really happen that way, it's a funny world nowadays."<p>

A Conversation with My Father

* * *

><p>A month passed and Greyback hadn't come attacking at the Lupins again, but Remus thought that it'd be safer to have him at the house during the full moon. He came a couple hours early to give them a heads-up about it. Mum answered the door.<p>

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"Yes, um—" He hadn't talked to Mum during his last visit and, since she'd been dead for years in the previous timeline, it was a very strange experience seeing her alive again—when she was giving birth didn't count since he was preoccupied at the time. Even though she'd died young, Remus couldn't get over the fact that she looked so much younger now. Had the stress over having a werewolf son aged her so much? "I wanted to talk to you and Lyall about having some extra protection if Fenrir Greyback comes again tonight."

"The werewolf? Are you—"

"Yes, I'm the one who helped to fight Greyback off last time," Remus finished for her. "Did Lyall explain what happened?"

"Can you really retain a human mind while in werewolf form?" Mum asked.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' And yes," he added, "I retain my humanity during the full moon. You and your sons would be perfectly safe around me."

"I believe you," Mum said sincerely. She'd always been a little too trusting, but Remus was glad for it now. "But why us? Why are you so concerned about our little family?"

What could Remus say to that? That this was _his _family they were talking about? Of course not. But he _hated _lying to Mum...

"I was there the day your sons were born," Remus finally decided to say. "Little Romulus almost didn't make it, no thanks to the novice substitute healer taking care of your pregnancy. I was _insanely _lucky to have knowledge on how to treat the problem—the only other major medical problem I know how to treat is my own illness—and my being there at the right time and place was nothing short of a miracle. Then, five years later, I was in a position to save them again. How could I not?"

"How did you know how to treat Romulus?" Mum asked.

"A while back someone told me that I had a twin brother who died of the same thing—birth asphyxia, I mean. I did some research to figure out what could have been done to save him. Of course, later I found out that my 'twin brother' was made up, but I was still able to put the knowledge to good use."

"Who would make up a twin brother?" Mum asked, aghast.

"Someone who wanted to give me the opportunity to save your sons, I guess," Remus said, adding a silent 'thank you' to the interloper. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Romulus not exactly being "real" but the fact that it meant his younger self was currently not a werewolf was extremely reassuring.

Mum stared at him for a moment before jumping as Dad entered the house. "You're back," he said, narrowing his eyes at Remus.

"Yes, I was explaining to Hope that I think you'd all be safer if I kept watch tonight," Remus said. "During the full moon, I mean."

"I'd rather that you stayed out of my house and away from my family," Dad said coldly.

"Lyall!" Mum said. "He's done nothing wrong!"

"No, it's alright," Remus said, trying to keep his voice even. "I'm just some strange werewolf who has taken an interest in this family. I'm potentially dangerous and for all you know, the last moon was some freak accident. It wasn't, but that doesn't make me any less a stranger to you."

"You're used to people not trusting you," Mum realized.

"That's an understatement," Remus muttered. "Would you mind if I was on guard outside or would you prefer it if I mind my own business tonight (and probably forever)? No, wait, don't answer yet—I'll go outside so you two can make the decision in private."

Before either of his parents could say anything, Remus went out the front door and sat down on the porch. He pulled out some parchment out of his robe—the first draft of an editorial he planned on sending to the Daily Prophet to help promote _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ and encourage any werewolves who were intellectual enough to _read _the paper to unite in the name of showing the Wizarding World that the two groups need not be afraid of one another. Remus planned on sending in these editorials once a month, to publish shortly after the full moon. This first one might not reach print for another month or more, as Remus was starting to realize how slow it was to publish anything that wasn't breaking news, but at least he was doing something. Remus sort of wished that there was something obvious to do, like Old George had with destroying the Horcruxes, but Voldemort didn't exactly publish when he enacted his various dark rituals or where he'd kept his trophies before moving them to safety. Although, Remus supposed that Gaunt's Ring might be in place...

Dad came and found Remus staring out into space instead of working on the editorial. Remus shook his head to clear it and asked, "what's the verdict?"

"You are obsessed with my family and I don't like it," Dad said. "But having a relatively sane werewolf around might help with the insane ones. Stay outside unless I specifically invite you in."

"Do you mind if I add an extra ward or two to your house?" Remus asked.

"I doubt that anything you add will make a difference."

"Are you saying that I'm a substandard wizard?" Remus asked. "Just because I'm a werewolf?" Remus asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"No, _I'm_ just very good at spells," Dad said.

"I'm not half bad either, if I do say so myself," Remus said. It was odd boasting like this, but he'd do it, if it made his family safer. "An old friend of mine once showed me how to make blood wards. I can apply it to all of your windows, doors, and other possible entrances, and only someone who is a close blood relation of whoever is the focus can get through."

"I'd rather you not touch any of our blood, thank you," Dad said curtly.

"I don't need to. Watch."

And with that, Remus put a blood ward on Young Remus and Romulus' window, using his own blood as the focus. He then summoned a nearby bird to try and go through it, but it was forced back by the ward and put into pain by strange growth on its wings. Remus healed the bird and watched it fly away, terrified.

"You can test the ward if you want," Remus offered. "It won't affect you."

"I'm not going to fall for that," Dad said. "Take it off."

"I'll do it in the morning," Remus said. "At this time of the month, I lack the mental strength to concentrate on casting a spell I've never actually used before. Anything that I've practiced enough to use in my sleep is fine, but not something this unfamiliar. And this particular counter-spell could easily make something explode if I did it wrong."

Dad narrowed his eyes at him. "You are going to leave that ward there for as long as you can, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Remus replied with a grin.

Dad responded by magically flinging him at the window. The sudden movement made him feel like throwing up, and the feeling was made worse when Remus used his wand to banish himself away from the window—he couldn't let Dad see that the ward didn't affect him, after all. He landed on the gravel of the street.

"Can't you heal yourself, like you did the bird?" Dad taunted.

"Healer, heal thyself?" Remus asked as he got up and made sure his shoulder didn't have any gravel bits piercing his skin. Fortunately his cloak seemed to have taken all the damage. "I'd rather not. I'd rather be at my best if I have to fight Greyback again. This may come as a surprise to you, but I'm quite weak for a werewolf."

"You look weak for anyone," Dad noted. "Did your parents starve you or something?"

"No no, I did that myself," Remus replied. "Mum was always trying to get me to eat more, but as soon as I understood that eating made me big and strong, I tried not to."

Dad frowned. "How old were you when you were bitten?"

"Just younger than you two boys are now," Remus replied as he looked up towards their window.

"No wonder you were so paranoid about them," Dad muttered. "They could have ended up just like you."

"You have no idea," Remus chuckled.

"But your family supported you?"

Remus nodded. "They did."

"I'm not sure if I could have done that if Remus or Romulus had..." Dad shut his eyes and shook his head.

"Lyall, look at me," Remus said. Dad had given Remus a lot of pep talks in his life, and now it looked like he could return the favor. "You could _never_ look at your son and see a monster. You would see a child that you loved with all your heart suffering an incurable illness. Even with no cure, you'd still look for any treatment that could help, even if only made the tiniest difference. You'd keep _so much_—you could never know just _how _much—of your son's self-loathing at bay just by showing him how much you loved him. You'd do all you could to protect him from the judgments of the ignorant and cruel and just give him as normal a life as he could have. And even when society would have shunned him anyway, you would be the constant in his life, always there to support him. You are better and stronger than you think, Lyall. I'd rather you didn't have to go through what my father did to know that, but I know that you could have been his equal." _Because you are him_, he added silently.

"You hardly know me," Dad said, looking away.

"I was there when you entered your sons' bedroom," Remus said. "Seeing you defend their lives was like seeing the very best of my father and I cannot see your fatherly instincts ever leading you astray."

"That was fighting in the heat of the moment!" Dad insisted. "I could easily fall short in the everyday duties of fatherhood and screw them up somehow."

"Everyone fails at sometime or another," Remus shrugged. "But since you're worrying about it now, I doubt you'll let them down when it matters."

"Maybe..." Dad allowed, before chuckling to himself. "Merlin, I'm having a conversation about being a good dad with a _werewolf_."

"I still had a dad," Remus said. "I think that that entitles me to have an opinion on fatherhood."

"You aren't a father yourself though, are you?" Dad asked, and Remus shook his head. "I think you should get a kid of your own before you lecture me on the subject again. Though you should probably adopt given your...problem."

Remus rolled his eyes. He used to have exactly the same concerns, but Remus had learned a few things before coming to the past. "I have it on good authority that children of werewolves are not, in fact, werewolves. Although I might get close if I mated with another werewolf during the full moon, but the cubs would only be intelligent wolves, not werewolves. I think there's a pack of that variety at Hogwarts."

"Not roaming the halls, I hope?" Dad asked with a sly grin, which Remus returned. _That_ was the Dad he knew.

"No, just the Forbidden Forest," Remus assured him. "They aren't likely to eat humans but the headmaster is still likely to let the werewolf rumors continue to keep students out. A werewolf sounds like a more plausible threat than a giant spider to an eleven year old, after all."

"Eh, not necessarily. I know plenty of people who were scared of spiders."

"One of my namesakes would agree with you. Speaking of which, I don't think I've properly introduced myself: Ronald James Thewlis," Remus said as he extended his hand to Dad. "My friends call me R.J."

Dad accepted the offered handshake. "Lyall Lupin. But I think you knew that."


	7. Night Watch

DISCLAIMER: JK Rowling is merely inspiration for this story. She doesn't endorse this story or even knows that it exists.

* * *

><p>"Two types of people laugh at the law: those that break it and those that make it."<p>

Night Watch

* * *

><p>Fenrir Apparated to across the street from the Lupin household, deep within the shadows. The view of the house wasn't ideal, but Fenrir could see enough. Lupin and a man who looked like he could be the other's raggedy older brother were talking on the porch. There was something about the raggedy man that niggled at Fenrir's memory, but he didn't know why. Maybe it was someone he'd attacked once?<p>

In any case, it looked like Lupin had picked up an ally for the night so it was good that Fenrir brought backup too. He had two of his most loyal werewolves running perimeter, but there was also a human wizard who had agreed to provide magical backup in case things went sideways again. When they had met a few nights ago, the wizard claimed to be in the employ of the Dark Lord and said that he'd pass along his opinion of the werewolves' skills in combat once the full moon was over. Fenrir didn't really care if some humans thought he was or wasn't a good fighter—he knew what he was and relished in it—but he knew that getting powerful allies was the next step in making the world give werewolves the respect they deserved. Well, as long as the new ally ever _bothered _to show up, tonight anyway. It'd be moonrise soon.

Fenrir heard a popping noise behind him. "You're late," Fenrir said.

"The Dark Lord had need of me," the wizard said, as if that explained everything. Well, whatever the human was taking his precious time doing, he didn't seem much worse for the wear. "What useless Muggles are we after tonight?"

Fenrir growled, pointing towards the Lupin house. "Lupin's woman in there is a Muggle, but I want to take care of everyone in the house."

"Muggle lovers," the wizard spat. "Let's torch the place."

"I'm leaning more towards ripping out their throats," Fenrir said. "Know that they're all-the-way-dead that way."

"And hoard all the fun for yourselves?" the wizard accused.

"You work _for us_ tonight, not the other way around," Fenrir said, bringing his face close to the wizard's. "Lupin had help last time. You're here to help make up for it tonight. And if we don't need you, we don't need you."

"And yet you think that you _will _need me," the wizard replied, cocking his head.

Fenrir bared his teeth. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>Remus knew he should be feeling more on edge right now, to prepare for the plausible attack, but he was having a hard time focusing himself. Dad had actually let his guard down around Remus when they talked. Sure it wasn't anything close to their relationship in the future, but it was a start. Certainly a vast improvement over Old George's family being terrified of him.<p>

Dad had gone inside and Remus took a quick lap around the house to ward all of its entry points. As he finished the last one, his magical reserves all but depleted, Remus felt the moon starting to rise so he moved to a side of the house where none of the neighbors would be able to see him transform and took off his clothes. This transformation was slightly easier than last time, as he wasn't trying to hold anything back. But a transformation was still a transformation and it hurt like being digested by a dragon. Then he heard the howls: Fenrir had brought friends. And judging by the directions of the sounds, they surrounded the house.

* * *

><p>Lyall now knew that R.J.'s fears were well-founded. The moment he heard the werewolves, he side-along Apparated his wife and sons to someplace that should be safe for the night. He would have done so earlier if he hadn't continued to doubt his new werewolf acquaintance, but Lyall didn't want to fall into a trap. That and any nearby werewolves wouldn't have the ability to change tactics until after their transformations.<p>

Lyall Apparated back to the house once he was sure Hope and the twins were out of danger. R.J. wasn't even a match for _one_ werewolf—he'd need help if he was going to survive this attack, and Lyall intended to give it to him.

A dark blur rushed at the window and before Lyall could raise his wand, it hit the glass. The werewolf howled in pain as its skin began to blister and its claws became wooden stubs. Apparently R.J. cast wards on the other windows while he wasn't looking, so Lyall decided to take advantage of it. He inched the window open enough to stick his wand out and shot ropes at the werewolf to bind its legs and snout, then transfigured the ground around it into a cage. It probably wouldn't hold forever, but it would stop the creature for a while. Its thrashing seemed more focused on stopping the pain than escaping, at least.

Lyall went to the other windows to see if he could get a good angle on any of the other werewolves. From the twins' room, he could see R.J. trying to claw at the eyes of what looked to be the werewolf that had invaded Lyall's house before, the one called Greyback. Lyall shot a series of curses at the larger werewolf, careful to avoid R.J. _That_ infuriated Greyback, who proceeded to rush Lyall's window. The impact shattered the glass and—somehow—the beast managed to get in, despite R.J.'s protective wards.

_Why did one window keep the first out but not the second? Is it because R.J. used up some of the ward's power when showing it working with the bird?_

But there was no time to keep thinking about that. Lyall shot the strongest curses he knew at Greyback, but pain only seemed to make the werewolf more aggressive. Lyall tried to Apparate away, but he found that there was an anti-Disapparition jinx stopping him now. The werewolves had apparently gotten a wizard friend to put up the jinx and fly away before he or she got bitten. Why hadn't Lyall bothered to keep a broom around the house for times like this?

Lyall threw curse after curse at Greyback as he ran towards the fireplace, the only way out of the house left. He paused only to grab some Floo powder and throw it onto the logs. "Ministry of Magic!" he shouted as he ran into the emerald fire, Greyback right behind him. He fell into the Ministry Atrium only for Greyback to land on top of him.

This was it. Lyall was going to die or get bitten. He shut his eyes and—

A spell flung the werewolf off Lyall. He got to his feet and saw Alastor Moody flinging curses at the beast. Lyall got up and joined him.

"No, evacuate the area," Moody said as he continued to non-verbally attack Greyback. "I'll keep your beastie busy."

"There's more of them at my home," Lyall said. "The family's safe, but—"

"Priorities!" Moody shouted at him, flinging his arm towards some bystanders who had just shown up to see what the commotion was.

Lyall nodded and started alerting everyone about the werewolf and getting them all to flee to somewhere safe, all the while blessing his luck that the one wizard who happened to be in the Atrium at the time was the one who could have reacted instantly to a werewolf showing up out of nowhere. But a single wizard—any single wizard—couldn't subdue the werewolf indefinitely. And if Greyback escaped Moody's control, there were too many humans about who hadn't cast a curse since they left school. Lyall _did _feel awful at leaving R.J. to fight alone, but the human lives in the Ministry were the greater risk. After all, R.J. couldn't get turned into a werewolf _again_.

* * *

><p>Remus tried to go after Greyback, but a flash of purple fire appeared on the ground in front of him. Remus's head snapped toward the wizard who cast it. To his dread, he recognized him: Antonin Dolohov. The wizard who had killed Remus' future self.<p>

Remus dodged another curse by leaping inside the house through the broken window. Greyback had gotten in, but how?

_Because during the full moon I share blood with him_, he realized. _The ward thought we were related._

Dolohov continued shooting curses, but he, at least, wouldn't be able to follow Remus inside the house. He needed to find Dad and—

Remus caught up just in time to see Greyback chase Dad into the fireplace, both vanishing. Remus couldn't go after them, not without a functioning voice to say where he was going, so he hoped that Dad gone somewhere that he could get reinforcements. Otherwise, he'd be...

Remus couldn't give into those kinds of thoughts, not now. Dolohov was still outside, and though he might not be able to get into the house, he could still do a lot of damage. At least it seemed like Dad had gotten the family out in time. But if Dolohov realized that, he might hurt other people tonight.

Remus couldn't say anything as a wolf, but he could still make general sounds, so he made a shrill noise that might be mistaken for a woman screaming, and followed it by jumping against the walls and furniture while growling loudly. When he stopped, he quietly moved to the back door of the house, using his teeth to turn the knob, and went outside. He circled around the house, noting the werewolf that Dad must have tied up and trapped in a cage, and snuck up on Dolohov. Once the wizard noticed him, Remus pounced.

Dolohov struggled beneath Remus' paws, but even a weak werewolf could subdue just about any human. Dolohov stopped, though, when it became clear that Remus wasn't going to bite him.

"What are you? A werewolf that attacks without eating?"

Just then, Remus heard one of Greyback's followers come up behind him, obviously having no compunctions about eating Dolohov. Remus couldn't let that happen: no one deserved to die by a werewolf, of course, but if Dolohov managed to survive the bite, it would only serve to make the wizard even more powerful than he already was. Especially since he was already working for Voldemort.

Remus growled at the other werewolf but, just like with Greyback the month before, the creature had no intention of considering Remus the alpha. Remus did his best to keep the other werewolf away from Dolohov, but in doing so, he had to let the wizard's arms go. He went for all the more vulnerable parts of the other werewolf's body—eyes, crotch, etc.—but it was all delaying tactics for Dolohov to get some sense and Apparate away.

Dolohov muttered something under his breath, then grabbed Remus' ankle and Apparated the two of them away to a dark room with a man sitting on a nice couch.

"Dolohov!" the man cried as he got to his feet. "Is that a werewolf?"

"Don't worry, Mulciber, it won't bite," Dolohov said as he shot ropes around Remus' limbs and snout before he could fight back. "I'd like to show the Dark Lord something interesting I found tonight."

* * *

><p>Alastor Moody had never fought off a werewolf before, but there was a first time for everything. He found the creature to be a formidable opponent, despite it not having a magical arsenal or even conscious thought; the thing was <em>fast<em>, and even when Alastor _did_ get a hit, it barely acknowledged the damage. Fortunately Lupin seemed to have kept all of the bystanders away, so at least Alastor didn't have to hold back in fear of hitting innocents. Alastor tried to seclude the werewolf in a corner, but it took most of his reflexes just to make sure it didn't escape. And he was getting tired—especially with the long day he'd pulled. Alastor was only at the Ministry because he needed to drop off some time-sensitive evidence, and he'd been looking forward to a good night's sleep. Hopefully he wouldn't have to carry on this fight all night long, but he'd keep it up until the werewolf reverted to human form if he had to.

Lupin came back to his side and started throwing some more curses before he started transfiguring a barrier out of the stone floor that was tall and smooth enough to restrain the werewolf—in one direction at least. "As soon as we disable this werewolf," Lupin said, "I think there are a couple more at my house. The closest neighbors are out of town, thank Merlin, but I don't want the creatures roaming free."

Alastor grunted. This was _definitely_ going to be a very long night.

* * *

><p>Remus struggled, but he was just as helpless as the werewolf that Dad had caged earlier. He had tried to act as aggressive as any other werewolf during the full moon, but he knew that Dolohov—who'd gone to meet with Voldemort—was perfectly aware that Remus was a safe werewolf to be around. And a werewolf that wouldn't bite humans could prove tactically advantageous to employ in combat, which meant that Voldemort was likely to try to force Remus to do his bidding. And it could only get worse if Voldemort realized the extent of Remus' self-awareness. In the Wizarding War of Remus' young adulthood, Voldemort had recruited werewolves to be mindless mass destruction. If he had had people like Greyback using the Wolfsbane Potion, Voldemort would have an army of extremely lethal assassins instead. Thank Merlin that the potion's ingredients were heavily regulated by the time Voldemort would have resurrected himself.<p>

However, if Remus kept the information about the Wolfsbane Potion under Occlumency, Voldemort was likely to send Remus out into the world during the next full moon and he'd be powerless to stop himself from attacking innocents. He had to do something to escape as soon as possible—and the better if he could do so before reverting back to human form.

Although Remus couldn't open his mouth, he could still expose his front teeth enough to gnaw at the ropes on his fore legs a bit. He didn't get very far, though, before Dolohov came to get him again.

"Come on, you stinkin' beast. Do you want to meet a Dark Lord?"

_No, oddly enough, I don't._

Dolohov levitated Remus to the chamber where Voldemort was currently accepting audiences. Remus still hadn't figured out where exactly he was, but he was pretty sure it was some old pureblood house, if the scary architecture was anything to go by.

"So, this is the unusual werewolf?" Voldemort asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"Release him. Let me see it for myself."

Dolohov banished the ropes around Remus, so he took the opportunity to attack the wizard. He bit at the man's robes, careful not to hit skin, and applied hard enough pressure with his paws that Dolohov might not realize that he wasn't actually bitten. Remus tried to run out the door, but Voldemort restrained him instead.

"Interesting," Voldemort said with a faint hiss. "Dolohov, are you injured?"

Dolohov bared the skin that should have been bitten and found it unbroken. "Nothing more than a bruise, my lord."

"Highly intelligent this werewolf is, I think, to try and feign an attack. I wonder...Legilimens!"

And then Remus felt his mind invaded. His Occlumency training with Snape paid off as Remus threw up his various memories of being a mindless werewolf in place of his thoughts. Voldemort kept digging deeper though, not fooled at all. If only Remus could just Apparate away...

Wait. He might not be able to Apparate, but there was still a possibility that the universe could evict him to the Well of Lost Plots again. And the interloper obviously liked him, so he'd probably be able to come back once more. The past hour or so would likely be erased from everyone's memories, so Voldemort—and maybe even Dolohov—would have no clue about Remus having ever existed, even if he wasn't permitted to return to reality. It was worth a try.

Remus let his thoughts become more human—though still chaotic, just in case this didn't work. He then let loose the thought:

_I am a time traveler._

A look of shock froze on Voldemort's face during the moment Remus waited for the universe to take notice. Was the whole "keeping the notion of time travel in a protected head" really still a rule or had the universe given him a pass on existing? Could he have just done one of the stupidest things a time traveler could ever do? Even if Voldemort believed the thought to be one of madness, he was now aware of the possibility, and that alone could ruin everything.

Voldemort regained his composure. "Interesti—"

Remus stopped existing. Again. The universe had just needed a few seconds to double check that there was one too many Remus Lupins.


	8. Redshirts

DISCLAIMER: All levels of this story are fictional, though there is a seed of truth sometimes. And JK Rowling and most other relevant people still don't know that this story exists.

* * *

><p>"My characters were...rebelling against something...My own bad writing. I wouldn't do for my characters what they needed for me to do—be courageous enough in my writing to make them interesting."<p>

Redshirts

* * *

><p>Back at the Well of Lost Plots. Though this time Remus was still a werewolf. That might make things interesting.<p>

He wandered around for a bit, though the place was so nondescript that he had no idea where he was or where he was going. After an indeterminate period of time that was much too long, he finally ran into Lysander.

"Remus! What are you doing back here?"

Since Remus was still a werewolf and thus still lacked a voice, he knelt to the ground and started writing in the dirt. Wait, where did that dirt come from? Never mind, there was more important things to worry about.

_It was either come back or get my mind raided by Voldemort_, Remus wrote.

"Well the number two rule of time-travel is to not get caught by Voldemort," Lysander noted.

Remus cocked his head and motioned Lysander to tell him the number one rule.

"Rule number one is obviously to not prevent yourself from being born!" Lysander declared. "Of course, with our method, you don't have to worry about that one so much. So good on you for getting away from the snakeman. Though bad on you for ending up like that in the first place."

_So do you know where my author friend went? _Remus wrote._ I need to see Blair again._

"If you think about him enough he'll show up. And why exactly are you writing instead of talking? Make a vow of silence or something?"

Wasn't it obvious that Remus was a werewolf right now? But on second thought, wasn't this how the Well worked? Lysander expected Remus to look like a man, so he did, even when Remus perceived himself to be otherwise. And if that was the case...

Remus stood up, instantly becoming a human again instead of having to shift back. Not going through any transformation pain was nice. "Sorry, I came here during the full moon."

"Makes sense," Lysander nodded. "So what have you been up to lately?"

It had only been a month, but it had been fairly productive and Remus had plenty to tell Lysander about. While talking about fighting Dolohov at Voldemort's, he noticed that the author of _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_ had shown up.

"Is there any particular reason you're both wearing red shirts?" the author asked.

Remus looked down. He hadn't thought about clothes when changing back, but now that the thought occurred to him, he was indeed wearing a red shirt.

"You seeded that thought, didn't you?" Remus asked.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," the author replied and Remus wasn't sure if he was being facetious or not. It was hard to tell the author's inflection, being nondescript and all.

"We're all going to die!" Lysander declared.

"Never mind that," Remus said before Lysander could get going on yet another of his tangents. "Can you take me back to the Outlands? I need to see Blair again."

"He's not going to give you what you want this time," the author told him. "You need to try someone higher."

"The interloper?" Remus guessed. "Do you know how to find him?"

"Her," the author corrected. "And yes. She's also in the Outlands, so let's go."

"You'd better not be trying to wriggle out of a goodbye again," Lysander said as he grabbed Remus in for a hug.

"No, of course not," Remus said. "Although this might be a 'until we meet again' with my track record."

"Point."

* * *

><p>Remus, after taking a fairly lengthy trip through the Outlands, stood before a wooden door. "The interloper is in there?"<p>

"Yes," the author replied. "You're going to have to go alone, though."

"Why?" Remus asked.

"She doesn't like having three or more people in a conversation at the same time," he said. "Gets confusing."

Remus shrugged at that and knocked.

"Come in," an irrationally high voice said, like she was trying to not show her true self. That initial impression remained with Remus as he let himself in, finding someone was hiding under a blanket, only a pair of hands typing at a keyboard visible.

"Interloper? I've come to ask for a favor."

"I know," the interloper replied. "You want to return to your most recent universe."

The room was silent for a moment until Remus broke it. "Are you going to send me back?"

"I'd love to. But I'm afraid I'm blocked."

"Blocked?" Remus asked. "How? What's stopping you?" This sounded like a setup for some sort of quest, and though he didn't much care for the idea of fetching something, he'd do it. Getting back to his revised timeline was more important than just about anything right now.

"My own mind," the interloper replied, motioning towards the top of her blanketed form. "I could absolutely send you back, but I don't have a clue as to what to do with you right now."

"So why don't you send me back and let me figure out what to do on my own?"

The interloper chuckled sadly. "You can't. You can't do anything without me allowing you to do it. The moment I leave you, you will truly be a part of the Well of Lost Plots."

"So I get to be with Lysander and the _Hairy Snout_ author?" Remus asked. It wasn't anything close to what he expected to end up with when he'd first traveled to the past, but maybe he could transform the Well into a decent place with enough hard work. He'd just have to exercise his imagination a lot to give it much-needed detail. And somehow convince everyone to go along with it. Maybe he'd even find his own way back to reality without dealing with the usual routes.

"What you have seen of the Well so far could best be described as the Theme Park Version," the interloper said. "It looks _m__uch_ happier than what's waiting for you."

"There's nothing at all in the Well except people who make pointless theories with one another," Remus pointed out, keeping quiet about the plans forming in his mind. "What's worse than that?"

"You don't know what it will be like to live in a perpetual state of near non-existence. It will be horrible—worse than what I left George with," she said with a regretfulness in her voice that made Remus wonder what _did_ happen to Old George. "When an interloper exists, the Well can connect everyone together, but whenever an interloper abandons them, the Well is only absolute isolation and stagnation. And the only thing I can do to you right now is abandon you to this oblivion."

"Can't I do anything to stop this?" Remus asked. He _needed_ to exist, in some way, as _someone_ that had meaning. Even if was just to sacrifice his life, that would be enough. "Just send me back—I can find all of Voldemort's Horcruxes and stop the war. And if not that, I'll help make the world better for werewolves. At least I can give the Prewett twins the ability to time-travel. There's so much I could do if you'd just _let me_!"

"I know you have a lot of potential," the interloper said. "But I simply cannot be the one to send you to accomplish what you need to, not anymore. I just...lean towards sucking when I'm this far away from Harry's school years."

"Then how did you help all of those other time-travelers?" Remus asked. "After George and Lysander there were _centuries_ of people you took care of."

"I didn't help anyone else," the interloper said. "Everyone just thinks I did. I didn't even really help Lysander. There's a reason he's stuck in the Well now."

"Will you at least tell me that story before I disappear forever?" Remus asked, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

"No," the interloper said. "Because I don't know it myself."

"How can you _not_ know?"

"An interloper does not have to weave every path. Much could be left to implication."

"Then 'imply' that I go back and do everything I need to do," Remus said. Why was the interloper so insistent about this?

"And what do you need to do? Dumbledore is able to carry on the Horcrux Hunt alone, Greyback is in Ministry custody, you've given werewolves the Wolfsbane Potion and _Hairy Snout, Human Heart_. And do the Prewetts really need to know how to time-travel?"

"Of course they do!"

"Then I'd have to support their existence," the interloper said, "and I'd probably do worse than what I have done with you. I won't start meddling in their lives too if I'd just end up abandoning them in the end. _Again_."

"You could simply 'imply' that I live a happy little boring life," Remus suggested. Though that wasn't much better than oblivion, it was still an improvement. He'd had his suicidal moments growing up, but he'd always pushed those back by reminding himself that continuing to live meant he had a chance to put his life to good use in the future.

"At this point, would you believe me if I gave you that?" the interloper asked.

"You could make me believe anything you want," Remus retorted.

"I don't like forcing things. Retconning Romulus into existence was hard enough. And putting you at a point where you get a happy end—or just a satisfactory end—from right now would be taking something I have not earned. It'd be like painting a smile on your face: you might think you feel happy, but you would be tainted by my irresponsible choice. I won't do it."

"Why not?" Remus asked. "Living a lie can't _possibly_ be as bad as what you're trying to do to me."

"Remus, I've been following your thought processes. You want to not die because you want to do something more. I cannot guarantee that you'll ever do anything again, but if I were to give you a false ending right now, then you'd be just as stuck as if you were in the Well and it'd be as permanent as death. This way, though, your potential remains. I may not be able to do anything with it now, but someday I might be. Or another interloper may figure out your destiny. I don't know. Can you believe that I will at least _try_ to return and give you everything that your story deserves?"

Remus was quiet a moment, thinking it over. Finally, he said, "if all you need is belief, then I guess I believe in you."

The interloper chuckled to herself. "All the belief in all the multiverses does not revive an abandoned fic. But it's still nice to hear you say that, nonetheless. Even if you're just a figment of my imagination."

And with that, everything ceased to exist.

* * *

><p>The End. (?)<p> 


End file.
